


Nothing Good Happens After 2 A.M.

by suganegg



Category: Zero Escape (Video Games), Zero Escape: Zero Time Dilemma - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Anonymous Sex, Hook-Up, M/M, One Night Stands, rando is basically a dildo w some dialogue dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7464516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suganegg/pseuds/suganegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man underneath him is only a stand-in for her affections, a mannequin for Junpei to project her image onto.</p><p>Junpei hooks up with a guy in a seedy bar (post-999, pre-ZTD).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Good Happens After 2 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> ztd spoilers for c team's "first come, first saved" and maybe some random dialogue in the rec room, but that's it! i loved junpei's characterization in ztd... also, i doubt introducing yourself is standard pickup/hookup procedure but i had to have it happen for narrative purposes, haha.

Junpei runs his finger along the rim of his glass, head resting on his hand and eyes staring blearily at the neon-rimmed sign on the wall. It was a joke, really, to have a sign proclaiming that patrons couldn’t drink if they were born before the posted date; the bar doesn’t card, and Junpei is sure he had seen a few teenagers at the pool table on his way in. Hell, it's a Friday night, so more had probably come in without his notice while he was set up at the counter.

  
He's lost track of how long he's been drinking and has no idea how many drinks he’s stacked up on his tab, but doesn’t particularly care either way. The whole idea is to get wrecked, stumble about the city in its predawn hours, and pass out somewhere because he can’t remember the way home. All Junpei knows is that he isn’t sick yet, which is a sure sign he hasn’t drank enough.

  
Junpei flags down the bartender to order something stronger when a voice at his shoulder chimes in.

  
“I’ll take one, too. Put ‘em both on me.”

  
He turns his head and looks at the man who had interrupted, only allowing himself to give little more than a cursory glance—his job has made him too used to taking in every little detail about a person, and the whole idea of being here is to forget who he is now. The strong red lights of the bar cast harsh, dark shadows on the man’s face, obscuring some of his features and putting an odd edge to his smile. He was fairly attractive despite that, Junpei supposes, and probably only a few years older than himself at most.

  
“Thanks,” Junpei mumbles.

  
“No problem,” the man replies, taking the open stool next to Junpei. “I’m Chris.”

  
“Julian.” Junpei says the first name that comes to mind, a fake one he uses for work when he goes undercover. An Americanized version of his own name; close enough to what’s real that it can come naturally, but common and unmemorable. All of which is entirely the point.

  
“I’d noticed you’ve been here for a while. You waiting for someone?”

  
“No.”

  
The bartender sets their drinks down, but Junpei’s itching to leave. Doesn’t this guy know the whole reason people go to shitty dives like this one is to be alone? If Junpei had wanted company, he would be living it up downtown in a bar without the impenetrable haze of smoke and lingering threat of violence from the burly men in the corner.

  
Junpei downs his whiskey like a shot, moves to slip off the barstool, but the man’s hand shooting out to grip his thigh stops him in his tracks.

  
“Hey,” Chris leans in, smile not slipping from his lips, “c’mon, man, I’m trying to pick you up. Didn’t think I’d have to be so obvious about it.”

  
Junpei glances at the large hand on his thigh, looks up and stares into Chris’ face through the red-tinged haze. A hookup had been the furthest thing from his mind tonight, but it wasn’t such a bad idea. He doesn’t want to go home, so why not end up in someone else’s?

  
“Ah, what the hell,” Junpei concedes. “I’m down.”

  
Junpei slips his jacket on as they leave, shoving his hands deep into the pockets. The street outside is quiet, devoid of cars and people except for the few staggering drunks and homeless people, and those that are both. Chris cuts the corner, turning the opposite direction from the way Junpei had come to the dive.

  
“My place is close,” he says, glancing over at Junpei. “You mind?”

  
“Not really.”

  
“Some people do. Rather’d do it in a hotel than the apartment of someone they don’t know.” He shrugs, chuckles a bit.

  
Junpei figures it’s an attempt at a “stranger danger” joke, but he doesn’t find the humor. They walk the rest of the way in silence and quickly arrive at an apartment complex; Chris hadn’t been exaggerating about it being close. The flickering light and moldy smell in the stairwell aren’t much of a welcome, but Junpei doesn’t care, and has been to worse places just in the past week. It takes more than this to faze him now.

  
They reach their landing, his hookup’s apartment being all the way at the end of the hall. Junpei leans against the crumbling plaster of the wall as the door is unlocked, realizing for the first time that night just how woozy he is. The alcohol is finally hitting his system, and he vaguely hopes that he doesn’t pass out in the middle of all of this.

  
“Bed’s this way,” Chris says, leading the way, stripping off his jacket and dropping it on the floor.

  
“Bed” was giving a lot of credit to what is actually a mattress on the floor with some sheets thrown on top of it, but it isn’t like Junpei can talk. His own apartment really isn’t much better, and he spends most nights at home passed out in his bathtub.

  
“Top or bottom?” Chris asks, holding up a condom. At least he was safe, despite the impression his place gave off.

  
“Bottom,” Junpei answers, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He doesn’t have high expectations, but at least hopes the man can fuck him hard enough to feel something through the numbness that’s settled into his head over the past year.

  
Junpei straddles Chris’ lap as the other lay on the mattress, propped up on his elbows. Junpei grinds his hips down as his fingers find the way to the buttons of the man’s shirt, working by the low illumination shining in through the window. Chris’ hands grip Junpei’s hips, thumbs rubbing hard circles above Junpei’s waistband as his mouth flits and teases against Junpei’s neck. With the shirt out of the way, Junpei can see that the man is actually well cut, a figure of strength and fitness—a pleasant surprise.

  
The alcohol and budding adrenaline have his head spinning, and Junpei’s suddenly overcome with how badly he needs intimacy, the realization of how much he’s craving it. There’s only one person he wants it from, but she’s not here, is somewhere far outside his grasp. The man underneath him is only a stand-in for her affections, a mannequin for Junpei to project her image onto. But everything’s wrong: hard angles where she would be soft curves; rough groping in place of gentle touches; surging motions instead of hesitant passes. When Junpei presses their mouths together, it’s chapped lips and the aftertaste of liquor that rise to meet him, and a low groan that’s earned in response.

  
Chris’ hand finds its way to Junpei’s crotch, and as he’s stroked through his jeans, Junpei wonders if her hand would be like this. Has she been with a man before? Would he be her first? Was she like him, projecting his image onto other people to dispel the loneliness?

  
No.

  
No, of course not—she isn’t as weak as he is.

  
He’s thinking too much, his mind wandering too close to places he doesn’t want it to be. Thinking about her and what could be but isn’t, that isn’t the point of all this. He needs to forget who he is, not dwell on the details.

  
“Hey,” Junpei says suddenly, his hands on the zipper of Chris’ jeans, a memory from the bar coming back to him. “Say my name.”

  
“Huh?” Chris blinks up at him. “You got a thing for hearin’ your name?”

  
“Just do it.” He growls, roughly grabbing at Chris’ cock.

  
“Sh-shit— _Julian_.”

  
That’s right, he’s not Junpei Tenmyouji to this man; he’s Julian. Just a fabricated name, no details, no unnecessary baggage. They don’t know anything about each other and never will. He needs to lean into that. Junpei throws himself into his actions with a renewed fervor.

  
Clothes are shuffled off, thrown aside on the floor. The condom’s wrapper crinkles as it’s torn open. Chris slings his arm off the side of the mattress, feeling around before his hand closes on something and he tosses a bottle of lube at Junpei. Junpei flips open the cap and slicks his fingers, then presses into himself. His actions are little more than cursory, just enough to get his body ready.

  
Sufficed, Junpei lowers himself onto Chris’ cock, taking a moment to adjust to the sensation. He’s bigger than what Junpei taken before, and with the minimal prep, it’s somewhat painful. But, he can't complain when it's what he wanted. Junpei rolls his hips forward, testing out the motion. Chris takes that as an invitation and bucks up into Junpei, causing him to cry out.

  
“You’re so tight,” Chris pants, breath hot on Junpei’s ear, hands heavy on his thighs.

  
“Shut up and fuck me already.” Junpei snaps, not in the mood for any more dialogue between the two of them.

  
Chris opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but decides against it. Junpei gets moving, rocking forward and back to fuck himself on the cock. Chris gets the idea and matches Junpei’s actions, burying himself deeper inside of him. Junpei pushes himself onto his knees, getting more leverage and changing the angle. That does the trick, hitting the spot inside of him and making him moan loud enough to disturb the neighbors.

  
They pick up the pace, moans and grunts playing over each other on a backdrop of skin-on-skin contact. Junpei bows his back, nails digging into Chris’ shoulders, chest heaving. The other man’s hand travels from Junpei’s thigh to his length. He lets momentum work its way, Junpei pushing through his grasp as he rises and meets the movements of the other's hips.

  
“H-hey,” Junpei stutters, breaking their several minutes of non-spoken intimacy, “I’m close.”

  
“Mm.”

  
The hand is taken off of Junpei’s cock, but the complaint on his lips turns into something unintelligible as those hands are used to force him into a harder pace. Junpei’s on the edge, and he squeezes his eyes shut, letting his awareness of everything but the body beneath him and his own need go. A particularly well-time thrust grants him his release as his voice bounces off the close walls.

  
He rides out the few minutes it takes for his hookup to come after him, albeit without as much effort or eagerness as Junpei had been putting into it earlier. As he shakily stands to go for his clothes, Junpei notices the mess decorating Chris’ chest.

  
“Ah, shit. Sorry, man.” He says somewhat sheepishly, gesturing vaguely.

  
He gets a shrug in return. “It’s whatever.”

  
Junpei dresses in silence broken only by the distant sound of sirens outside of the apartment. He takes a moment to feel around in the pockets of his jeans and jacket. Phone, wallet, keys, lighter—

  
“Who’s Akane?”

  
“What?”

  
Junpei spins, staring in incredulity at Chris who sits simply on the mattress, still undressed. He quirks an eyebrow at Junpei’s reaction.

  
“You said that when you came.”

  
Junpei swears, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t even realized. “It doesn’t matter.”

  
“An ex?” He guesses.

  
“Something like that.”

  
Chris shrugs again. “Hey, it’s cool. We’ve all been there.”

  
He probably figures that’s why Junpei was drinking alone at some random dive bar. A guy trying to drown his sorrows about a bad breakup. Well, it’s a fine backstory for the fictionalized version of Junpei that he picked up.

  
“Yeah…” Junpei mumbles noncommittally.

  
Junpei shows himself out of the building before the man can work back into a talkative state and ask any more questions. He pauses on the street, standing in the shadows of an alley. Fishes around in his pocket for the battered box of cigarettes and shakes one out; lights it up as he blinks at the moon hanging heavy over the city.

  
It’s still too early for him to go home, and he’s still not drunk enough to try. So he sets off in a random direction, on the search for another bar. He wasn’t ever going back to the one from tonight.


End file.
